


Thirty Pieces of Silver

by riosnecktattoo



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enter Me, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Set in some not too distant place after 3x05, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stuck together!, Talking! With words!, UST is resolved, Where they are semi ok but still haven't spoken about ANYTHING, diverges from canon from about 3x05, eventually, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riosnecktattoo/pseuds/riosnecktattoo
Summary: Beth & Rio get stuck in an elevator. They finally talk. It's angsty. Enjoy.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 121
Kudos: 447





	1. Chapter 1

The elevator doors close.

Rio takes his hand away from pushing the button for ground floor of the hotel before resting his hands back inside his pockets.

The meeting had gone well, all things considered. And Beth didn’t hate the penthouse location. It was the first time she hadn’t been taken to a warehouse or a bar or a strange house for a deal. But this was different. The men that Rio called his colleagues, but clearly had some sway over his businesses, were flashier than him in every way. Rio had rocked up in jeans and long black jacket that fit his shoulders perfectly. But he was still casual. Effortless. The three men had been wearing smart suits and seemed to have bathed in aftershave. Trying too hard. Aggressively checking the time on their expensive watches. Had ordered room service but let the food go cold. Rio’s good taste had always been understated. She thinks about his loft, the splashes of green on the artwork that bled in to the kitchen. The heavy wooden cabinets and exposed brick. Pictures everywhere of him and his son. Perfectly folded sweaters that she can still feel under her palms. She’d imagined what he would look like wearing them. She flashes to that night. Seeing it empty. Cold. Like he had never lived there. Turner tied to the base of a beam. Rio’s eyes catching the light from the street lamps outside the window. The way he’d laughed -

_Stop._

The point is he needed them. And he’d said he needed her. _For business_. And then they’d wanted to meet. But it had all been so bizarre. Rio had made sure she wasn’t taken in by the show they were going to put on. “They’re dangerous.” He said. And his eyes had said the rest. _Just like me_. It had put her on edge more than anything and she wishes he’d kept his mouth shut. Still, she kept her head high and tried to find that strange sense of clarity that being in danger sometimes gave her. But it kept coming and going. Switching from tense to relaxed. Her eyes constantly flitting to Rio, hoping she was doing everything right. And _God_ , that was frustrating. That she still wanted his approval. Beth found herself wondering how he got involved with those men at all. He had just walked off the first time she mentioned it, and it hadn’t been broached again. And with everything feeling like a slow boil between them right now, she didn’t push further.

So that’s how they’d been going along. Letting all the horrible stuff simmer. Just below the surface. A jack-in-the-box, slowly being wound up. Distantly, the elevator music starts to sound like ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’.

“So we good, yeah. Keep the funny money going as you were, my boys will stick to the schedule. I’ll handle the rest. Long as there’s no mistakes, we don’t gotta problem for now. Cool?”

He says it all matter of fact and without any opening for discussion. Only turning his head to look at her at the last moment, whipping his chin round fluidly so the harsh lighting of the elevator glances over his cheekbones. Black eyes somehow full of disinterest and _something else_ she’s never been able to name. His lips are pursed as he looks at her and she knows she’s stuck in this now. She has to be cool.

“Okay.” Beth nods a little lamely before looking straight ahead again. Unable to take the intensity of his gaze for too long. Swallowing down the ways in which this whole situation is stifling her.

“Aw, you sure? Cause you don’t seem real thrilled about it, darlin.”

Beth levels him with a look she hopes is full of contempt. He returns it with a smile that’s really more of a sneer and then turns away.

After a moment of tortured silence, the elevator jolts and comes to a stop. It buoys for a second, unsteadying them both on their feet. Beth stumbles and reaches out for the nearest thing to stabilise her. Which happens to be Rio’s arm. He looks down at where she is clinging to the fabric of his jacket. The muscle in his bicep jumping at the contact. Annoyance clear as day on his face. _That’s rich_ , Beth thinks. Given how often he’s been touching her like it’s nothing. But his face is so close and she doesn’t let go straight away. Frozen in this moment. He brings his eyes from her hand up to her face, words forming on his lips, and then the lights go out.

There’s a second or two where she can’t see anything at all. The only thing she registers is the grip on his arm, her fingers pressing deeper instead of easing up. All she can hear is his breath coming heavy out of his mouth, inches from her face. Washing over her. And she swears she feels it, his forearm bending up, the hand belonging to the arm she’s crushing, coming to rest lightly at her elbow. His fingertips in the dark, almost reassuring. Almost kind.

An orange glow whirs to life and gives them both their sight back. Reminds them who they are. Beth quickly extricates herself, moving to the side of the space, trying to work out what to do. Rio doesn’t move. Following her with his eyes, the line of his mouth hard. Like he’s annoyed at himself. That hand still outstretched toward her, cradling the ghost of her elbow, before he composes, clenches his jaw, returns the traitor hand back to his side, and looks around the elevator.

They see it at the same time. The big red button with the picture of an alarm bell on it beneath all the numbers for the floors and _In Case of Emergency_ written above it. Beth barrels toward it, pressing and holding the button over and over again, frantic. “Come on, come on!” she grits out. Hitting the panel so hard now she’s surprised it doesn’t break.

“Ey, will you take it easy. You freakin out’s not gonna help anything.”

Beth ignores him, but lessens her assault of the emergency button. Even though every second that passes without an answer is building the stress within her. Eventually, the little intercom crackles and a woman’s voice asks her about the situation.

“Oh, thank god. Ok, um, yes we’re stuck in the elevator, and it’s not moving and the lights have gone out and we need help as soon as possible please.” She rattles out, hands pressed in to the elevator panels like this will get her closer to rescue. The woman asks how many of them are stuck.

“Just two.” Beth answers. “Me and my – ” she falters. Beth looks over her shoulder only to be met with a smug grin. Rio’s eyes crinkling at the corners, pushing her to give an answer, curious as to what she’s going to qualify him as. Of course he would be enjoying this.

“My friend.” She settles on and Rio snorts.

The woman’s voice tells her quickly that there’s been a power outage. That the building is old so the elevator won’t be moving from in-between floors until it’s back on. That they’ll be fine, they just have to stay calm and sit tight.

Beth has never felt less comforted in her life.

“Ok. Well, thank you very much.” She tries to be sincere, but aggravation seeps in to her tone, probably coming off as rude. It’s not the woman’s fault after all.

Stepping away from the wall, feeling completely helpless, Beth begins to realise what this means. She’s trapped. With Rio. In a confined space. With no telling how long for. Turning over her shoulder again, she looks to him hesitantly. His shoulders are pressed in to the far corner, legs crossed at the ankle, hands firmly back in his pockets. The picture of ease. But his eyes are boring in to her, slowly blinking in that way that used to have her hypnotised. Not anymore, though. _Not anymore_ ….

“Now that wasn’t very nice, now was it?” He drawls.

“You could have helped.”

“Nah, from what I recall you don’t like my kind of help.”

_You know how you always saying I don’t help. That’s me helping._

Her stomach drops and he chuckles without any real amusement behind it.

“Come on, mama. Lighten up. Besides, we been in smaller spaces and you didn’t seem to mind much.” At that, his eyes drag down her body, slowly, making her squirm, before raking back up. A cramped bar bathroom shining his eyes. A dirty mirror. The sound of a door locking.

Beth whirls back around to face the elevator doors. Scrambling at them. Not really thinking, just needing to try _something_. Anything. She considers pressing the red bell button again. But what else is there to say? They just have to wait for the power to come back on. They’ll be fine. But it’s not the being trapped. It’s the undetermined stretch of time in a small space she now has to spend with Rio. The thought refuels her panic and Beth begins banging on the doors again, willing the metal box to move and let her out. Behind her she hears a deep sigh from Rio, practically able to see the way his jaw swings in her mind as he watches her fumble and flail against doors that aren’t going to open, knowing it’s pointless.

Her hands flatten and slow their beating. It’s so quiet apart from the white noise of the emergency lighting buzzing above. The harshness from before replaced by a dimmer amber glow. Her throat starts to tighten and all the air she’s sucking in feels thick. Tasting his cologne with each inhale. Warm and sharp and intoxicating and full of memories. She panics again. Anything but this. Anything but being stuck in here with him. “No, no, no, no, no god please no, _not this_ , please.” She mutters under her breath. Or at least she thought it was under her breath. Rio scoffs.

“Will you stop? Or you gonna keep crying about it? Cause I’m about to take offense.” He says that last bit syrupy sweet. Like there’s no reason being trapped in here with him would be painful for either of them. But she knows he’s hating this as much as her. _Ok._ _Here we go_.

Relenting and resting her head against the doors, she lets out the breath she was holding, before slowly pushing off and turning to catch his eye. Beth falls back, defeated. And then they just look at each other. Wordlessly acknowledging the weight of the situation. They can’t escape each other. She can’t run away. He can’t disappear. What are they supposed to do? Keep standing here, looking at each other? Saying nothing? For how long? Every word Beth has ever known leaves her. _How do humans talk, again?_ Besides, talking isn’t what they _do_. She shifts her weight from foot to foot. Fingers twiddling at the sides of her jeans. He’s still leaning against the far wall. But it’s such a small space he feels suffocatingly close. Surveying her. Waiting for her to speak. An old favourite game. Who will break first.

Beth can’t take it. “Well?” He doesn’t answer. “You know you could do something, right? I mean, god, I know you don’t want to be stuck here with me any more than I do with you.”

“You claustrophobic, darlin?” He tilts his head to the side and she can tell he’s barely containing an unkind smile. _How is he still so calm?_ Beth wants to scream.

She throws her arms out, already itching to get away. “Sure, let’s go with that!”

“Nah, I don’t buy it. I think it’s the company that’s got you all riled up.”

“I am _not_ riled up.” She bites out.

“Well you ain’t calm, neither.”

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she stalls herself from feeding in to his game. He likes this. Watching her get ruffled. _Why is it always him doing the ruffling?_ He stays silent while she rubs just above her eyes, pretending he’s not there. Suddenly she registers the burner phone she brought, tucked in to her jacket pocket. She could call someone? At least have the distraction of a different voice? She fumbles with the pocket, reaching in and fishing out the simple phone.

“No signal.”

She snaps back up to look at him, “What?”

“No signal. Already checked.”

Apparently while Beth had been going feral at the elevator doors, Rio had been a few steps ahead of her. Doing something rational while she went slightly insane.

He’s right, of course. Beth presses the power button on the side of the phone just to see a nice little zero signal sign and the clock blinking 10:41pm. Huffing out a breath, she stuffs it back in to her pocket.

“Told you.”

“Yeah, thanks I got it.” She snaps.

She’s very aware that her hands have gotten clammy, brushing them on the side of her jeans. It’s not that it’s hot in here, but she’s worked herself up so much it doesn’t matter. The baby hairs at the back of her neck are beginning to stick to her skin, adding to her discomfort. Deciding it’s the only way she’ll be able to breathe properly again, she starts to shuck off her jacket, letting it drop half the way by rolling her shoulders, then tugging at the cuffs of each sleeve. After a momentary struggle with the cuff over her left hand turning inside out and getting stuck, feeling like she might just die from embarrassment right here and now, Beth finally gets the sleeve off and discards the jacket in the corner.

She’s wearing a simple top. Annie had said it was ‘milk-maid vibes’ when she’d first seen her in it, whatever that meant. Black, with little red flowers dotted over it, a wrinkly pattern in the material at the square neckline and cinched under the bust. It was comfy but cute and looked better underneath the jacket, she thought. _Oh, well._

Rio clearly enjoyed watching her biblical struggle with the sleeve. He clears his throat, rubbing his hand over the scruff by his lips, smoothing out the smirk. But his eyes go glassy and drop to her chest and she wishes she’d worn something more boring. More shapeless. That she could feel invisible in. Because he’s not looking away and the smile has disappeared. His jaw going slack. She’s sure he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

It’s making her hands go clammy again.

“Will you stop?”

“Stop what?” he rasps, faux innocence.

“You know what.”

“No, mama, I don’t. Why don’t you break it down for me, yeah?”

“Are you enjoying this? We’re stuck in here!”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh my god, you’re impossible.”

“I’m fine, you’re the one working up a sweat.”

“You know what, let’s just not talk.” She shoots at him. He makes a show of clamping his mouth shut, still absurdly calm in the corner. Staring at her silently. If anything it’s more annoying.

If this is how it’s gonna be for however long they are in here, she might start screaming. There has to be another way out. What do they do in films? Her eyes shoot up to the square hatch in the ceiling. What if she –

“This ain’t _Speed_. Yain’t climbing up and out.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“Sure.”

“What happened to the not talking?”

He deep sighs, then. Suddenly over the mocking. She registers how dumb her statement is. Like they’ve ever talked. About anything real. Like they know how to be honest with each other. Like they know how to verbalise anything that comes close to how they feel. How they got here. Like they don’t normally run away from each other if it gets too close to the truth. As if that wasn’t what led them both to _that night_. Hit by a wave of sadness, Beth’s shoulders sag, letting go of the bristling anger she was building up.

He must sense it in her, because his shoulders seem to drop as well. Mirroring her. And here they are again. Just taking each other in. But it feels less irritated this time. It feels like they could be on either sides of her kitchen counter. Him, asking why he’s there. Her, a little delirious with butterflies in her stomach. Intrigued, tense, knowing. Waiting.

But so much has happened since then. The emotional gulf between them stretching so far he feels blurry. So why is he looking at her like he’s never seen her so clearly?

His lips twitch, face suddenly serious as he leans away from the wall, takes his hands out of his pockets, and leans back again, clasping his hands in front of himself. The set of his shoulders makes Beth suddenly remember him describing how he flips his game. So long ago now. Remembers the begrudgingly impressed way he used to look at her. How much she loved it. Misses it –

_God, Stop._

Blinking those memories away, she clears her throat, “What are we supposed to do?”

“Wait.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He sighs.

He focuses on her then. Tired of her already, apparently. _This would normally be the part where he stormed off_ , she thinks. His pupils turn dark and tell her to stop asking questions she knows the answer to. But her mind flashes to that night in his car. Terrified. Needing him. Wanting him to _want_ to help her. Even after she’d kicked him out that day. After he’d told her to leave his place. She still wanted him to care. But he’d called her work. It didn’t matter that everything logical in her had told her that that wasn’t true. She believed it. And then it festered. And then……….. _No. Please. Not now_.

 _Of course she was just work to him._ It had hit her in the gut. A real physical pain that shot up her spine and made her heart beat just a little faster as she looked at his face. His eyes downcast. Those long lashes fluttering for a moment as he seemed to filter through moments with her. And it had almost been fond. The insult.

 _Yeah, pretty much_.

Her breath had caught and she knew the hurt was all over her expression. Knew he’d seen it. He’d looked up at her and the smirk on his face as he met her eyes faded. Watching his words land. And another unspoken moment passed between them. _We both know it’s not true_.

She can’t look at him anymore. Tearing her eyes away, she steps in to the corner. Turning and placing her hands behind her against the wall, she slides down until her back is pushed flush against the panelling, sitting on the cold floor and bringing her knees in tight.

Rio follows the action, clearly reading the temporary truce there for what it is. She brings her arms up and around her knees, gripping her opposite elbows with each hand, and releases her head on to her forearms. Letting her hair fall like a curtain. Blocking everything out. Breathing in to the space between her chest and thighs. She can do this. She can get through this. She just has to keep calm. She just has to keep them both away from the subjects they try to avoid. Subjects that when they’ve tiptoed too close to in the past, immediately have them both looking for an exit. An exit they don’t currently have.

She’s aware that he’s started to move about, able to hear the scuff of his converse and rustle of his jacket. She pivots her head ever so slightly so that her right eye is peeking out just above her arm, enough to see what he’s doing. He’s decided he’s too warm as well she guesses, as he’s rolling his jacket down his shoulders. Tipping his head and looking down at the floor, his bottom lip hangs heavy, as he slips the sleeves down his arms, before smoothly pulling it all the way off. He drops it to the floor beside him and Beth gets a better look at the shirt he’s wearing underneath. It’s deep blue. The kind that really makes the bird at his neck stand out, buttoned almost to the top. His sleeves are rolled up. Pushed above his elbow, so she can clearly see the tightly corded muscle of his tanned forearms. _Oh, good_.

Her mouth goes dry.

He begins to lower himself in to the corner diagonally across from her. His movements so smooth and lithe. Sometimes it’s like he moves in slow motion. Sometimes he pounces. But always confident. She’s never understood how he’s just like that naturally. Beth manages to feel awkward at least 400 times a day.

As he settles he notices her watching him with her one eye. She tries to cover it by pulling her shoulders back and rolling her head all the way up, like he’d just caught her in the motion of sitting up straight again. Not quietly examining him.

He doesn’t buy it. But, mercifully, he lets it go.

“So,” he chirps. Suddenly all good humour again. It’s fake. It’s how he was at the bar, talking about Marcus and Jane playing soccer. “How _are_ we gonna fill the time, huh?” He brings his elbow to his knee and couches his chin in his palm, fingers curled below his lips. “Any ideas? You got a deck of cards on you?”

“Shockingly, no.”

“Shame. Your poker face so bad, woulda been fun to watch you lose.”

She’s affronted, honestly. Spinning the truth is one of the few things she’s always been able to count on herself for. “I’m a good liar.” She says slowly. A statement.

“You sure as hell think you are.” He shifts his shoulders, rolling his neck languidly. Like he’s never wrong about her. Beth can think of one time he’s never known her _less_. But she doesn’t dare go there.

It’s annoying. She’d just come from a room of men who had believed every word she’d said. He was there. He saw it.

“Ok, what about your bosses in there?”

“Colleagues.” He rankles.

“Ok, fine whatever. They bought everything I said.”

He’s scoffing again, looking at her like she’s dumb now, and that pisses her off so much. “Really? Darlin, they didn’t hear a word you said.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They was too busy checkin you out to give a damn what was coming outta your mouth!” It’s the way he spits it at her, venomous, before grinding his teeth. Pressing his lips together hard. Like he’d been choking it down. Immediate regret at his outburst. The implication that he’d noticed. That it bothered him. That he’d shown his hand. _Ironic_ , Beth thinks.

“They were not.” She babbles, unsure how to steer away from this.

“Oh, so you blind now? Please. Only reason they let you keep talkin is cause they wanna fuck you.”

She has nothing to say. She’s - - embarrassed? Had they been checking her out? She hadn’t noticed any strange looks. They seemed friendly. Interested in her side of the business. Nothing is coming to mind. But, if she’s honest, she was so keyed in to how Rio was responding to her, looking at her, moving next to her, she probably missed a lot of what he was seeing. What he was paying attention to. What had, for some reason she’s not going to touch, annoyed him.

She tries brushing it off like she doesn’t believe him but, frustratingly, she doesn’t do it very well. “You’re wrong.”

“Mmmhhmm.” He hums in response. That slow blinking again. Falling back into this weird tunnel vision between them. He’s holding her gaze as he swallows, the action distracting her. He’s still got one knee bent up and the other outstretched. His legs are so long his left foot is nearly touching her and she wishes he’d move it away. His large right hand is hanging over his bent-up knee, and she watches his fingers twitch against the top of his calf. The thick black band he wears. The rope bracelet. Little details about him she used to collect because she had nothing else to go off. She still doesn’t.

Sighing she comes back to meet his eyes. He’s about to say something snarky, she can tell, and she can’t keep doing this, so before the words can form she says, “We shouldn’t speak. What’s the point? It’s late. Let’s just……just rest and wait. I’m sure we’ll be out soon. No reason to make this worse than it already is.”

He’s about to offer up some form of rebuttal, before he lifts the palms of both hands in a show of agreement, “Suit yourself.” He relents, clasping his hands over his belly. He settles even deeper in to the corner and Beth does, too. Apparently they’d both been straining forward toward the other without realising it. A constant pull and repulse. Like trying to push two magnets together with the same polarity. No matter how hard they force it, it just won’t click in to place. Because they’re the same.

The thought sends a cold chill down her arms and she rubs at the little goose bumps that have risen there. Rocking her head to the side, Beth hopes that that can be it now. Until they can get out and return to their new normal. She focuses on patterns in the wooden floor. The way the different colours undulate and stretch down the panels. Like little arteries in the grain. Like veins in the back of a hand. And again, her subconscious betrays her. Throwing up images of Rio’s hands gliding down her body in reverence. From her throat to her thighs and down further, still. Making her feel small. Making her feel wanted. She remembers, with a distinct pain in her chest, how they had been lying next to each other. Trying to catch their breath. Panting and feeling every delicious aftershock. But as their breathing calmed, she had felt the tips of his fingers on her chest. Dancing over her shoulders. Feather-light. Almost ticklish. She had turned to look him in the eye, but he’d been lazily focused on his hands. He was connecting her freckles. Mapping her out. Dot to dot, like he wanted to know every inch of her. Painting little constellations on her skin.

She wonders if he’s haunted by her like this. If he looks at her and remembers innocuous moments. If he even recognises that person she was anymore. Would it be better or worse? If he did think about their past with warmth? Or if all he remembers is her face as she pulled the trigger. The sound of her opening and closing the front door to his loft. When she left him there…

She clenches her eyes hard. _Stop. Stop. Stop._ When she opens them she decides she needs a distraction and her gaze goes to the floor numbers again, beginning to use them for random equations. _This is good_. She’d never been any good at helping the kids with their math homework. Everything was so different now to how she’d learned, but this would keep her occupied, she thought. Safe. Boring.

_You know you should really get him a tutor, right?_

Of course.

She sticks with it. Only getting mildly frustrated with herself. She’s not even sure how much time has passed when she rolls her head away from the elevator floor numbers and back to Rio. He’s focused on his phone, maybe going over schedules or something, she’s not sure. Playing a game? What kind of games would he even be in to? Does he have some on there just for Marcus? Maybe he likes those brainteaser ones. Not to keep sharp. He already is. But he seems like the type who would secretly enjoy being top scorer on an app leader board.

He’s really involved with whatever is happening on the screen, though, because he hasn’t felt her eyes on him like he normally does straight away. But he shifts his whole torso suddenly, subconsciously. Like he’s uncomfortable. A flicker of something traveling through the muscles of his face. Then, without seeming to realise he’s doing it, he starts to bring his right hand in toward his chest. He places his fingers just off centre, almost where his heart is but a little higher and to the left, and starts to rub a small circle. Like he’s trying to ease a sensation. Like he’s done it before and he’ll do it again because –

Because it’s the spot where the first bullet went in.

Beth goes cold all over. Staring at his fingers and imagining the scar he’s touching beneath the thin layer of his shirt. How he seems to be relieving some small ache. Or feeling the ghost of what was such a painful thing. A phantom itch that irritates him at random.

She’s still staring at his fingers. At that spot. Hard. Unable to look away. Feeling her eyes getting wider and dry. It’s only when his hand abruptly stops its ministrations and drops to his side that she brings her eyes up to his.

His face is blank. Eyes completely black and unblinking. Even the bird on this throat is suspended in motion. Like he stopped breathing the moment he noticed her watching his hand.

She can feel the tension between them getting thicker and thicker. The awful moments from that night filling the space and demanding to be acknowledged. Far away she registers that her eyes are starting to fill up, threatening to spill over. She tilts her chin up ever so slightly, not breaking eye contact. Breathing in and out through her nose and holding herself from falling over the edge of this precipice.

He watches her do all this. Logs every tiny emotion she’s trying to hold back. And then, in an attempt to regain control, he says, barely restraining the whirlwind beneath, “Something to say?”

She exhales slowly. Carefully. “No.”

“Ok, then.”

“I…..

“Don’t.”

“But I –“

“I don’t wanna hear it, Elizabeth.”

“You don’t know what I’m gonna say.”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

She’s so tired and she’s so - - _so_ _sorry_. Ever since he came back, they somehow decided to ignore the elephant – hell, the whole damn circus – that is what happened that night. Every time they look at each other, it’s there. The look in his eyes after that first shot rang out. The betrayal. When he touches her hand, she feels the brush of his fingers as he trusted her with that golden gun. It’s worse when she looks at him and sees a bathroom mirror. The way the edge of the sink had bruised the top of her thighs. His large hands, so much softer than she dreamed. Or it’s his wide, curious eyes waiting for her to take off her jacket. It’s the way his shoulders shook as he laughed on her picnic table. His whole face lit up. Sometimes the way his lips move take her back to that first kiss. Then she remembers the sickening fountain his mouth made. The choking gurgle that echoed through the loft and her nightmares. A blinding jumble of seconds she doesn’t understand. Its weight crushing them. They are both so tired and she wants him to know –

“Stop.” He says gruffly. Something different in his tone she can’t place. The muscles of his jaw working hard. The line where his beard blurs in to his cheek bouncing as he empties tension in to his face. The bird on his throat rippling as he swallows.

“What?”

“You know what.”

It’s stern and his eyes go heavy lidded, in that way that always made her light-headed, and a shadow passes over his face. But it’s not cruel. She could swear – it’s almost sad.

She realises then that her gaze had fallen to his chest again, trying to map out the damage she’d done. To marry what would be there now to the skin she’d once danced her hands over. Where she’d traced her fingertips. Pressed her palms in hunger. That she’d lacquered with kisses. The vaults of her memory offer up the guttural sound he’d made in the back of his throat when she’d dragged her hot, open mouth down his neck and over the skin of his chest.

Skin she’d marred forever.

Her eyes are brimming with tears again. Exhaustion hitting her bone-deep. There’s so much she wants to say and so much she wants to know. What if they could just give each other that? Here. Now. What if they held their ground instead of running, no matter how painful? What if she just _tried?_

The first tears start to break through her lower lash line. He watches them fall but says nothing. So, tentatively, trembling all over, right to the end of her fingertips, she says it –

“I’m sorry.”

He burns so intensely for a moment she thinks it was the worst thing she could have said.

“No you’re not.”

“ _What?”_ That wasn’t the reaction she expected. He had to know. How could he _not_ know how much she regretted it?

“You ain’t sorry. You pulled that trigger three times. You left the gun with Turner. You went back to your perfect little life. You went and got ya own little business figured out. And I ain’t seen _nothin_ from you since I got back that says ‘I’m sorry.’ So nah, darlin. I don’t buy it.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. She’d been keeping all that pain and guilt buried down so deep. She knew if she dredged it up she would drown. She’s barely been treading water as it is. But as soon as the elevator stopped, she felt the anchor of time. And here they are. Rock bottom. She needs air. They both need air. She’s starting to feel delirious without it.

“You must have things you want to know. I know I do. But we _can’t_ keep going like this anymore!”

“Oh, and that’s your choice is it?”

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me!” She yells. Desperate for him to meet her halfway. “Please just ask me what you want to know. About that night. About what I did! Scream at me! Do _something_ other than look at me like that, please!” She barely get’s the last words out, she’s shaking so much. Tears streaming down her face.

He still doesn’t answer. She lets herself breathe raggedly for a moment before wiping her hands down her wet cheeks. How can she unlock him? What would _he_ do?

With a sad smile, Beth sniffs and then says quietly, thick with emotion, “Let’s play a game, yeah? Twenty questions, I’ll start.”

The memory sparks on his face, squinting at her, before he lets out a long suffering sigh and drops his head. He closes his eyes and steels himself. His shoulders rising and dropping wearily. When he lifts his face back to her he gives the tiniest nod. _Go on then_.

Ok. _Ok_ -

Oh, god. Now she actually has to think of what to say. What to ask. What to offer. Everything jumbles in her head for a moment and she’s worried that her hesitation will make him change his mind. But he’s just watching her. With a patience she hasn’t seen for a long time. Not since she was in her pyjamas, telling him how tired she was. And he’d just listened.

She knows what she wants to ask.

“That night. You put a bag over my head. Put me in a car. Terrified me. _Kidnapped_ me. You knew I would have come anywhere if you’d asked me. I know you _knew_ that. So - _Why_?”

He was expecting something like that, she can tell. But it annoys him. Having to explain this decision. _Good_. She’s never understood it. She wants to understand it.

“It wasn’t me.”

And - _huh?_

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wasn’t there. At your house. I was with Turner. I sent one of my guys to get you, bring you to me. They weren’t supposed to - they weren’t supposed to do what they did.” He bites out, casting his eyes around the elevator. Like he’s admitting a mistake in his leadership and it’s shameful. Like he didn’t have control. Like it didn’t factor in to what happened.

“But why was it necessary at all? Why not just call me? Text me. Tell me to come your place.”

He regards her then. Slowly blinking. “Because I _wanted_ you scared. Not like how you was - but it couldn’t be me who gotchu. I wanted you on the back foot. I wanted you confused. Y’know - the way I was when I found out you never handled your rotten egg. That you got rid of the wrong damn body.”

It’s not that she expected him to say _sorry_ for it. God, no. And she’s putting these bits of information together and finding the overall picture does get clearer. He wanted her stressed. Upset. To feel like killing Turner was right. If she’d come in to that room with a clear head, it could have all been so different. But it wasn’t him who grabbed her from behind and shoved a bag over head. Crushing her arms to her side. Covered her mouth. An odd thought she has is that she should have known that it wasn’t his hands on her. That she should have been able to feel it wasn’t him in the car next to her. But that part of the night was such a mess of sounds and smells she lets it go.

She’s about to ask more about it when –

“Nuh uh. You got way more than one question in. My turn.”

He’s right, of course. But now she’s paralysed with fear. _You can’t run_ , she thinks. But neither can he.

He leans forward. Levels with her. They both feel the words he’s about to say.

“Why did you pull the trigger on _me_? Three times.”

It’s what she expected. But the emphasis he puts on _me_ nearly knocks the wind out of her. Like it had never crossed his mind she could do that to him. Out of the many scenarios he had planned for that night, he had trusted that no matter what, she couldn’t hurt him. Because deep down, Beth knew, he could never hurt _her_. Not really. And he’d applied his own set of rules to the both of them. It makes her so desperately sad. Because she didn’t want to hurt him. Never thought of herself as that person. She doesn’t know how to explain to him how that night felt like a funhouse mirror in her mind. A warped version of the woman she thought she was. How there was nothing but blind panic in her brain. But of course he would want to know. Of course he wants to know what was going through her mind.

“I – I was –”

She’s fumbling. Cycling through how she felt. Something she’s refused to do ever since it happened.

He waits. His breath coming in a little faster. Rubbing one of the rings on his hand hard enough to erode it. But she has is complete attention. “I didn’t mean to.”

It wasn’t what he wanted, clearly, scowling like she’s just told the most pathetic excuse he’s ever heard. “I mean, I just. It wasn’t what I wanted to happen.” She can feel the tears again and _God_ why can’t she stop _crying_? “I was so scared. And confused. And you were acting so – so – I don’t even know. I hadn’t seen that side of you before. And it felt like I’d invented the other sides and here was the real you suddenly. And then you were asking me to kill an FBI Agent!” The thought is still crazy to her, that he would put her in that situation when he didn’t need to. But just cause he wanted her to be _like him_. To get her hands dirty. Well here they both are. Choking on mud. “I thought about it, in that moment. If I should just do it. Shoot Turner. That’s why I took the gun from you.”

“So why didn’t you?” He interrupts.

“It felt like an execution. It felt needless.”

It floods her abruptly. The overwhelming feeling of being abandoned by him when she needed him so much. The confusion. The way she had convinced herself she was nothing but a pawn to him. That he had used her.

“I just remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe. And you were finding it all so – _funny_. Like nothing touches you _ever._ Like nothing mattered to you, that I didn’t ma –”

She stops herself. Too late. She can feel the heat at her cheeks, the slow creep of blush up her collarbone to her neck. Blotchy and pink and finishing the sentence for her. She knows because he’s following it. His lips twitching. Face placid.

He switches gear. “You know what’s _funny_?” he spits, “How you go on and on ‘bout being a Mother. Did you think about my son when you pulled the trigger?! With the first bullet? The second? The third?”

“You think I had any clear thoughts in that moment beyond how scared I was?! You think I had time to stop and think?! Nothing was going through my mind but panic. I can’t even remember it clearly. I don’t even know how that first shot happened! - I didn’t mean - it was - my hand it just - _tensed_ and - and you were right there – and – and - ”

She’s gesturing wildly now. Sucking in air. Trying to call back the awful sensations that were governing her body in those few seconds. “My finger was on the trigger. And then you stepped toward me and my hand just _squeezed_. It wasn’t intentional. It was an accident. And I couldn’t believe it had happened. And what it meant. And I could see the blood on your shirt. And your _face_ _when you looked up at me_ – ” Tears. Tears again. A valve that won’t be shut off. She hasn’t cried this much in her whole life. Not since her father left.

“I thought - ” she hiccups, trying to calm down. Regain some semblance of clarity. “I thought if you didn’t die, you were going to kill me. The way you moved for me after that first shot – I just thought _stop. He has to stop. Please stop._ And then I just let my hand squeeze again. And I was so _angry_. It was like it wasn’t you. It was like it wasn’t me. Like it wasn’t _us_. I just – I don’t have an explanation for you that’ll make sense. It doesn’t make sense to me. I wish it had never happened. I wish I could take it back. I wish _we_ could go back.”

She didn’t realise how hysterical she was getting. Suddenly feeling like she may vomit. Resting her head back in her hands and pinching at her temples to distract her from the rolling motion of her stomach. She’s sorry. _She hates herself_. She’s sorry. _She’s glad he survived_. She’s sorry. _She hates him_. She’s sorry. _She missed him_. He has to know. _He has to_.

She’s vaguely aware that some of these thoughts might have leaked out and been spoken. She doesn’t care. But she feels it. Again. From behind the blackness of her hands cupping over her eyes. His fingers reaching out, faintly ghosting over her forearm. Following the line of freckles he finds there. Telling her _enough_.

And she has no right to be comforted by that right now.

Letting her hands fall from her face, she sees him, having come on to his haunches, now hovering above her on his knees. It’s not kind, his face. There’s a burden there. Something he can’t budge or reckon with. It causes a crease between his eyebrows and she longs to reach out, run her thumb along the line there and erase it. But she knows _she’s_ the burden. So how can she spare him of her weight?

He rocks back to sitting. A little closer than he was before, no longer using the corner for support. Stretching his left leg out again until the toe of his shoe is almost touching her hip bone.

He’s looking down at his hands again. The hands that keep reaching out to her. Betraying him.

“Did you feel guilty?” He asks his palms. He lifts his head, leading from his chin, “Did you care?” He asks her directly.

She feels like they’ve really settled in to the pit they’re in. And she’d gotten over the hardest part, hadn’t she?

“When I was walking home – I just wanted to die. I felt like I had died I was so _hollow_. I kept thinking, well, how am I supposed to live with this? It was all I could see in front of my eyes. I could smell that room for weeks after. I never slept. If it wasn’t for my kids - - - I just locked it all away. I told myself I had done the right thing. Because if it wasn’t the right thing, I wouldn’t have been able to get up every day. But I always saw you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nightmares.”

“Good.”

“That’s not what I - - they weren’t bad.”

He’s confused. That’s fair. She didn’t get it either. “Explain good nightmares to me.”

_Ok. Why not._

“Sometimes I’d be doing the dishes and see you sitting on top of the picnic table. Waiting for me to see you. Instead of just knocking like a regular person.” She chuckles, momentarily brightening at the thought of his taste for theatrics.

_Lung. Spleen. Shoulder._

God, he really can’t help it.

“Or sitting in the park. A drink at the bar. I haven’t had bourbon in _so_ long.” She lifts her bloodshot eyes to his again. They both know where their minds are. Her hand itches to nervously play with the ends of her hair, but the impulse is squashed before her hand does more than fidget. He saw it though. Like she saw how he shifted in his seat.

She ploughs on.

“The worst was when I’d see you laughing. I use to see a conversation like it was through a – a – like, dirty glass, and not be able to hear the words. But I’d see you smiling and happy. And I’d wake up screaming.”

Now she can’t read him at all. His eyes go so wide he almost doesn’t look like him and he lets the tension in his jaw go. She figures this is as good a time as any.

“Why did you get my daughters baby blanket back for me? After everything you said?”

He reels, apparently not prepared for questions outside of that night. Like she’d broken an unspoken rule.

“Why does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

His cogs are turning. She remembers how it had felt to see that stupid pink blanket fall out of the package. He was saying a million things without speaking to her. She thought it meant he cared.

“They disrespected you.” He settles on. “I can’t have bottom feeders like that thinkin’ they run my guys. That was it.”

That was most definitely _not_ it.

“You didn’t answer me – ”

“Why’d you kick me out?” he says, and now it was her turn to be caught off-guard.

“What?”

“That day. In your bedroom. Why.” he purrs. That voice of his somehow mining an even lower register.

Beth starts blinking furiously. She can still see how content he was. Sitting up against the headboard, wrapped up in her sheets. Comfortable, like he belonged there. And it took everything she had to convince herself he didn’t. _To lie_.

If she was going to be honest, now, in this strange little bubble they’d created, was the time.

“I had to get my kids back.”

“And that had shit to do with me because?”

“Dean - ”

The mention of his name sours everything about his expression and he rocks his head to the side like if he never hears the name Dean again it’ll be too soon.

“What about him?”

“He gave me an ultimatum.”

“He’s irrelevant.”

“He gave me no choice. My kids or you - - or - - I mean - - not _you_ \- - the cash. The pills. All of it.” She tries to recover. But they both know nothing about that day was business.

“Why’d you bring me there?”

She goes as quiet as she can without being silent. Shifting her eyes to his throat thinking it would be safer than the inferno in his eyes right now. “Because I wanted you.”

She follows the line of the wing down to the blue talons of the bird’s feet. Gently rippling with his steady breaths. “I knew it wouldn’t mean anything to you. So I knew I couldn’t hurt you.” She’s trying to brush it off. Trying to be matter of fact. The way she had been that day, even when her heart was breaking. Remembering how she had let the shower run without her in it for so long she couldn’t see through the steam. Waiting to hear the sound of him leaving. And when he had, she had lain down on the cold tiles and wept.

“Got all you wanted from me, huh?”

“Not at all.” And she hadn’t meant to say it like that. Like she still wanted him. Like she never wanted to let him go. But that’s what it sounded like. That’s how he took it, she can tell. He sucks his lower lip all the way in to his mouth, chewing on it. Her mouth gaping at him and her pupils jumping around his face. She’d rather go back to the anger than this. At least that she can understand.

“What was it like – after? When you were - - wherever you were.”

He takes the tone change gratefully. “How’d you think it was? I had three holes in my chest, I was having a great time.”

She doesn’t rise to it. She can see he wants to tell her, really.

“What doya think it was like? You don’t need me to say it. Had to re-learn stuff. Lemme know if you ever need tips on putting a shirt on without screaming, cause I got all the info, sweetheart.” She struggles to picture him ever feeling weak. So foreign to everything about his being. “But all the time I got your boy Turner on my back, trying to make me his puppet. I ain’t never been a lackey in my life. Wasn’t about to change that for a Fed. So I played the long game. Used him.” He laughs, full of disgust “He was so obsessed with being the big man he never saw me coming.”

Beth remembers all the other names of people who had never done a thing to Rio. Their faces staring out from tiny picture frames on top of grocery store flowers. Words from people who had loved them scribbled on little cards.

“Have you ever - - have you ever done something - - like what I did?”

He regards her like nothing could be as bad as what she did to him. “Nah.”

“Not even to someone who worked for you? That failed you?” Eddie jumps to mind. How he’d been nothing but loyal to Rio, but he’d killed him anyway. And been unfazed. Just another day at the office.

“Nobody’s failed me like you.”

Well _ouch_.

“You’ve never hurt someone who – who trusted you?”

“I ain’t a Judas.”

She supposed she wanted to know if he’s ever been _her_. If he’d ever been the one frantic and confused and given a weapon. If there was a precedent for this mess. Maybe if he had, he could understand the complete lack of drive behind it. The way it had become a muscle reflex. Devoid of reasoning. If he could ever take a step toward forgiving her. Because deep down, though she’d never ask for it, she wants that so much. For him to see her like he used to.

_I think you could be something._

He’s running his hand over his cropped hair, thoughtful.

“Why’d you stay in?” he demands.

“In?”

“In my world. Cause I recall you saying I put it all on you. Never on me.”

It was fair. She’d screamed at him and told him she didn’t want it. Then gone off and sought it out.

She’s had time since then to rationalise that she hadn’t meant half of what she said. That she had to take the blame for her part in things. For where she was.

“I know nobody forced me in to this. I know it was my choice. Over and over again it was my choice. That I pushed you in to letting me be a part of it. Without knowing what I was _doing_. That I bailed on you. That I created more problems than solutions. I didn’t accept that about myself then, so it was just easier in that second to shout at you and blame you. To put that hate on you. But it was me. I know what I am. I know who I am and what I’ve done.”

“Well, look at you. Putting your big girl panties on. Holding yourself accountable.”

“You should give it a go sometime.”

It’s not fair. Not really. But he’s done fucked up shit to her as well and he knows it. He can pretend her shooting him was the only messed up way they hurt each other, but they know the truth.

Beth suddenly feels drained. Like they’ve been in here all night but it can’t have been much more than an hour, maybe two.

She’s struck by how soft he looks, in the dim dusk-like glow of the elevator. His cheekbones still somehow catching the non-existent light. Looking so perfect and so _good_ and just like every good nightmare she ever woke up screaming from.

He’s watching her, too. In that way he does now. Warring with himself. Remembering her. Trying to forget her.

“Can I ask one last question?” she stutters.

“Why not. We done way more than twenty by now anyway.”

“I think we needed to.”

He chuckles, and for the first time tonight it feels genuine. Heavy with something familiar between them. She’s momentarily stunned by it. The way he seems at ease with her. She doesn’t want to break the spell, but she she’s been itching to know something ever since he’d let her buy her life back for 100k.

“Why haven’t you killed me? And don’t say the business. Or the money. Or the press. Or anything else that we both know has nothing to do with it. The real reason.”

Rio pushes the cuffs of his sleeves the tiniest bit further up his elbows. Fidgeting with his rings as he brings his hands back together. And considers her. Like he’s trying to figure that one out as well. He’s come up with so many excuses now maybe he does believe them. But she’d realised herself not long ago, if he stuck by his own code of rules, if he followed his own advice, if he was smart when it came to her, if she wasn’t an _exception_ , he would have killed her by now.

“You don’t gotta be afraid of me.” He says pointedly, angling his eyes down like he’s willing her to understand.

It’s not an answer. Not at all.

“Why’s that?”

“You know.” He growls out, low. Asking her to stop.

“No. I really don’t. ‘ _Why don’t you break it down for me_?’” she mimics his tone from earlier. Pushing her luck.

“Because I can’t do it.”

And it’s so honest, she almost double-takes. He’s never said _he can’t_. He’s not a _can’t_ person. The word making no sense on his tongue.

But he keeps going.

“You know I can’t. I should. God, it’s all I thought about for months. Your face. Watching you beg. Seeing you realise that I _always_ come to collect. But now. I just can’t. And I don’t want to. And I don’t know why.”

He knows. They both do. But maybe this is something they can still keep unsaid.

“Okay.” She offers in her smallest voice.

“Okay.” He says plainly. It’s enough. Enough for both of them. For now.

She’s unsure where this leaves them. It feels better than before. Clearer. Less like they are being stalked by some nameless mass. He doesn’t look so blurry, sitting before her now.

Slowly, he starts to lean his body forward. Placing both his hands on either side of her thighs, still staring in to her face as he pulls up and in to her space with a measured sense of strength. _What’s he doing?_ Coming onto his knees, holding her eye contact with a lazy power, his left hand grazes her thigh and his face is now agonisingly close to her own. His hot breath tickling her cheeks. He’s swaying a little. Something snake-like in the constant lilt to his neck. Almost nose-to-nose. Beth freezes. He’s caging her in, looming over her. His eyes falling to her open mouth. Her lids flutter shut, intoxicated. _He’s not going to – He wouldn’t –_

She registers then that his right hand had been reaching around her, toward her back, where she discarded her jacket and her phone. He fiddles for a moment before pulling out the little black burner, never taking his eyes off her, watching her squirm. Knowing what she was thinking. That he’d ruffled her yet again. He’s smirking as he brings the phone between them, only dragging his eyes to it at the last second, when he presses the power button.

The screen shows them both 11:57pm in stark bright numbers.

“Past your bedtime ain’t it?”

Beth hums a little, still affected. He drops the phone back to the jacket, and rolls back on to his haunches before standing all the way to his full height. Stretching some of the stiffness away. Then after a second, reaches out his hand to help her up.

She slips her tiny hand in to his palm slowly, savouring the way his fingers close around hers. How he envelops her. The heat radiating off him and the cold press of one the rings he wears. Then he’s pulling up and she goes easily. Grateful for the help. She hadn’t realised how tight her shoulders had gotten.

He doesn’t let go. He’s not gripping tight. She could take her hand back if she wanted and he’d let her. _What do I want?_ He’s looking at where he’s holding her. That hand again, the one he can’t stop from touching her. But he doesn’t look mad at himself anymore. He gently rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. Trying to say something with the action but Beth’s not sure she’s catching it. Too preoccupied with the prickly feeling shooting up from her hand where he’s stroking it. Straight to her heart.

Then he releases her abruptly and it’s her who grabs him back.

“Wait.” She’s saying before she can think, gripping his wrist now before he can move away.

There’s one thing that’s been eating her up inside since he came back. That she can’t stop thinking about. A constant question mark. _I want to see,_ she thinks. _I have to know. I need to see what I did_.

It had all been so abstract. His pain. His recovery. The marks he still carries. Something she never had to be witness to. He had just popped back up like nothing had happened to him. So strong and vibrant and so _alive._ But she knew that just below his shirt, he carried it. That he would always carry it. Carry her mistake. And she was trying to face up to her mistakes.

The hand she’s grabbing at has tightened in to a fist in his wariness. She drops her eyes to his chest, like she had earlier, speaking to the buttons of his shirt, so he understands.

“Can I - ” _breathe, Beth_. _1.2.3. Breathe._ “Can I see?”

His face goes ashen but she knows he was expecting it. Every muscle in his jaw flexing, swallowing harsh words. She waits for him to say no and step away.

As if they are both underwater, so painfully slow, he starts to bring his free right hand to his top button, frowning as he keeps his eyes firmly locked on hers. Still letting her grip for dear life to his left wrist.

He pops the first button open easily. And now she’s following his hand, as he squeezes the next button between his thumb and index finger, sliding it out and open. And then another. And another. And another.

He stops about midway and gently guides the edges of his shirt open to the side. And she sees them. His scars.

She had thought about it so many times that she never imagined being surprised. They’re darker than she pictured. Less pink. More a mottled brown. A little uneven, but flat. They’ve healed well. _So far,_ she guesses. They will probably continue to heal and soften over time. She hopes so. Her eyes catch on the worst one. The one above his heart, high on his chest, the one he had been circling earlier on. Her eyes fill again with the memory of how unmarred he had been before. What she had put him through.

Then he’s using his hand, the one she’s got a white-knuckle grip on, and guiding it up and toward him. She goes stiff all over as he places her fingers to his skin. Then, as he flattens his hand over hers, almost in comfort, she goes limp. There’s a storm raging behind his eyes. He’s finding this so hard, she can see. Barely contained emotion.

She can feel the slight bump under her fingertips. The raised line of it. Silky smooth. Can see all three of them. She begins to trace her finger from one scar to the next, gently. Scared if she moves to fast he’ll bolt. But he lets her and distantly she can hear his breath catching as she does so.

And it’s like a sledgehammer then. How much this feels like him with her freckles. As she connects them. Maps him out. Dot to dot. Because she wants to know every inch of him. This new constellation she had put on his chest.

She meets his eyes and says everything in silent. Feeling that tether between them snap in to tension, so tight. Unbreakable. Letting the last tears she has in her trickle out the corner of her eye, before taking her hand away slowly and stepping back.

He starts to rebutton, dropping his head forward to see what he’s doing. She averts her gaze, foolishly now, trying to give him back his privacy. Everything suddenly feeling too intimate. Too raw.

When he’s done, he straightens up again. A new tension rolling through him. He steps forward, right up and into her space, quicker than he has moved this entire time. There’s something else he wants to say but he’s lost for words. It’s a strange sight and she’s struck by how young it makes him look.

“Elizabeth, I - ”

The lighting harshly changes back to an unforgiving crisp white, cutting him off. The little cocoon they had been in, vanishing. They both blink furiously, adjusting to the brightness. They can feel the whir of energy as the power comes back on, as the elevator slowly starts to move.

Their time is up.

She thought she’d be relieved.

With a sigh, they re-focus, knowing this might be the last moment of this strange truce. For now, at least. She wants to say it one last time. She wants him to know she meant it.

“I’m sorry.” She says, again. Clear. Honest. The basic truth.

Beth feels boneless as he reaches out, nudging her hair away from her face, drawing his index finger from temple to chin. And it’s there, she’s sure it is. A genuine, forgiving smile at the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

The elevator doors open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely people. I'm finally back with a part 2! This only got done cause everyone was so kind and supportive so thank you so much! :)  
> This takes place a few weeks after part 1. I've added the progression from the show of Boland Bubbles cause I really liked that move forward for them. So from around 3x06 we have diverged in to an alternate timeline where they had talked about things and Rio's colleagues are involved hahaha

Beth’s tired.

Pulling in to the small parking lot behind the bar, the car lurching as it settles to a stop, she eyes the clock on the dashboard and sighs with relief. 4:38pm.

Good.

_Early._

She undoes the seat belt and relaxes back, yawning as she feels it. The exhaustion. Letting herself have these few moments before she has to go in and see Rio. The cause of her weariness. The reason she hadn’t slept. The thought that he might be able to sense that in her making her palms sweat.

In the weeks since those doors had opened, they had slipped back in to a tense easiness that confused her. But it was nice. Them, working together without the scythe of their unspoken past raised above their heads. Feeling like a team again. They argued. They laughed. Mocked, belittled, uplifted, disagreed and drove each other crazy. They felt agonisingly alive. They were _them_.

They never really mentioned it, that day in the elevator. The odd reference, maybe. A look loaded with meaning earned from the words they shared. Their secrets, their questions laid bare between them allowing them to almost be like they were. _Before._

Almost.

The anger she used to be able to make sense of simmered differently. Only visible at the strangest times. Bubbling up in a controlled sort of storm. From _both_ of them. She could feel it herself sometimes at meetings. At the bar, at Boland Bubbles, on her picnic table. How they would switch from calm, reasonable partners in to something she couldn’t name. Just for a flash. Couldn’t pin down the _why_ of it. It happened so randomly. Once when he squeezed her shoulder, letting his hand run slowly down to her elbow. When she had laughed too loudly at something he said. When she got the same true laugh out of him. When he’d lifted his head and caught her eyeing his mouth. When he asked her to stay for another drink. When he said he had a date to get to. When it somehow came up that Dean had been relocated to the couch. The last occurrence was when Mick had shown up unexpectedly, interrupting them. Rio’s ire flitting between both her and him. It was unreasonable every time.

When Beth tried to name the anger it felt more like – _frustration._

The frightening kind. A tension they shouldn’t still have or give weight to. But there it was. Building and building. Making itself known without invitation.

She had hoped, maybe foolishly, that after their come-to-Jesus moment in the elevator that the pull she felt would dissipate. Ease off and let them work together with clear heads. Had she convinced herself that the magnetism from before that day was born only from the unspoken pain between them? Well, she couldn’t rely on that excuse anymore. Not with how they had been with each other since.

Those first few days after, her dreams had shifted. Putting her right back in to those last few seconds before the lights turned on. The old nightmares of his loft, his laughter, everything that haunted her have, for some time now, been replaced with something better. Not good just – better. Him rushing toward her with that look on his face. Her name crossing his lips in a new, curious way. The words he didn’t say. In her dreams she fills in the gaps. All kinds of things. Things he’ll never say to her. Last time he had looked at her with bright, open eyes and earnestly said _I’m sorry, too._ The words sounding comforting but strange in his mouth.

Then there were the things happening when they saw each other. Wrong things.

At a meeting two weeks ago at Boland Bubbles, she’d sat on her side of the desk and he’d sat on his. She had worn that black keyhole sweater she likes and somewhere in the back of her mind she might admit that she wore it that day on purpose. The day Rio would be coming to see her after work.

She might also admit that the way his eyes went huge, the way his mouth opened in a soft expression of awe when he walked in and saw her had felt so good she’d had to fight back a smirk. The way his eye line had constantly dropped throughout the meeting feeling like small triumphs. He looked good, too. Impossibly inviting. His long black jacket covering a simple dark t-shirt. And that silver chain, the one she remembers twisting in her fingers to pull him closer in her bed, falling down his chest.

The air had been thick with it. A buzz. An undercurrent through the entire short interaction. It was when he stood up to leave though, lifting his share in the duffel off the floor, that he had lingered. He made a point of staring intently at her, before dropping his eyes to the desk between them. Lifting his free hand, he dragged his fingers across the wood, thoughtfully. Taking his lip between his teeth as he looked down, the images in his head projecting to her as he flexed his jaw. He made a low humming noise that had her trembling and then flicked his gaze back up, knocking twice on the wood. The thrum it made in the quite sounding a lot like an inevitable promise as he turned to leave.

_You’d look so much better on top of it._

But they shouldn’t. They can’t be like this anymore. _They shouldn’t. They shouldn’t. They shouldn’t._

And then there was last night.

3am. The reason she was so tired today.

Beth had slowly awoken to the sound of her phone on the bedside table. The gentle vibrations it made on the wood telling her to roll over and pick it up. As she did so, she registered the time. _Who the hell would be calling me now?_ A sense of dread helped her wake up faster until she grabbed the phone in her hand and could make out the number calling.

Rio’s number.

_What?_

He rarely called. Normally sticking to blunt, straight-to-the point texts that irritated her. So what was this? She began to feel nervous energy shooting through her body at this change in behaviour. But the thought he might seriously need her or be hurt had her quickly swiping to answer the call and bringing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” She had whispered. Feeling secretive in the dark. Even though she was alone in her bed.

“Yo,” was his drawling answer. His voice thick and croaky, not urgent or pained. She relaxed back slightly in to the headboard. But the silence was dragging. He had woken her up. _He had called her._ Why wasn’t he saying anything? Beth rankled at the thought that he’d called at this ridiculous hour and she’d still answered. She couldn’t give him that.

“Sorry, who is this?” she asked, trying her best at honest confusion. Like she doesn’t always know his number. Like she knows anyone else with a voice like _his_.

She can hear his throaty chuckle down the phone, the humming static making him sound even better somehow. “It’s me, mama.” He says, fondly. She can hear the smile in it.

“Oh,” she chirps, like she’s unbothered. He goes quiet again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

Beth thinks she can hear something else in his voice. A lightness. Had he been drinking?

“It’s 3am.” She says, matter of fact. Trying to suss him out.

“Ah, shit, you right. I wake you up?”

“Well, yes. Obviously.” She was finding this less charming now. _What was he doing?_ “Why did you call me? Is this about tomorrow?”

Rio’s grunts a clear _no_. “Nah, we’re good. Five at the bar like we planned.”

“What is it then?”

Silence again.

“It couldn’t wait?”

Silence.

“Right, if it’s nothing then I guess I’ll hang up – ”

“Do you think about it?” he mumbles, suddenly. Keeping her on the line.

“Think about what?”

“Before.” And it’s so solemn. His voice almost mourning. The hint of inhibitions having been lifted by drinking, unlocking his tongue in a way he would never normally let her see.

She knows what he means _. Before_. Before that night changed everything. But what does it matter? Why was he calling her up like this?

“I don’t understand.” is all she can whisper back.

“Yes you do.” He purrs. Making her shiver with it. “Do you think about it? Do you still think about it? How we were.” He pauses and her heartbeat drums in her ears, “How we were,” and it’s wistful then, like he was talking to himself, before blearily regaining conviction, “Do you think about what we did in that bed you’re in?”

Beth feels frozen. But it’s too enticing. The darkness and the quiet making this feel unreal somehow. Something that will be lost to the witching hour. Another odd dream.

“Yes.”

Rio hums again, drawn out and full of memory. “What else do you think about?”

Beth’s mind races. Throwing up a kaleidoscope of images. Of them. Of him. Emotions and little moments. The first time they met. The press of cold gun metal under chin. The intrigued look in his eye. The way he listened. The tingle of his fingers running down her face. When he locked eyes with her at the bar that night. His hand holding on to hers for too long. A blanket falling out of an envelope. Him moving above her in this bed. The pictures of him smiling in his loft. Everything she’d boxed up and stored away. But she wasn’t the only one with a key to it. And here he was. Banging on the door.

“All of it.” She answers honestly.

“Yeah.” He murmurs after a moment.

“Why did you call me?”

“Cause I wanted to.”

Beth remembers something she wants to know. That’s been eating at her. A question she might get an answer to in whatever weird mood he’s currently in.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

And – odd choice of words, but fine - “What were you going to say to me, that day, before the lights came back on?” She knows he understands, his sudden silence filling the space.

A moment passes. Then another. And she worries he’ll just hang up when finally, he grumbles, “Don’t remember. Can’t have been important.”

It’s not good enough. It _was_ important. She knows it was. The troubled look on his face constantly on her mind. She’s about to push him on it when he interrupts the thought.

“Good night, Elizabeth.” He drawls, blunt but still affectionate, before hanging up.

She held the phone at her ear a moment longer before dropping her hand in to her lap. And there it was again. _Frustration._

At least this time it made sense. Beth had still been unclear what he’d called her for. The thought of him tipsy somewhere, thinking of her, of them, of their past, the good parts, making her tingly deep inside. The thought of existing in his mind at 3am while she slept making her squirm in her sheets.

Frustration. The bed drowning her in a constant reel of them here together. Every inch of it whispering to her in the lines of his body. The sounds they made together. The thought he might dwell on it like she does. Something she worried he might look back on with revulsion after what had happened, but was apparently keeping him up at night.

_How was she supposed to sleep after that?_

So she’d spent the whole night tossing and turning. The work day going by painfully slow and the urge to fall asleep at her desk was so tempting she almost nodded off several times. Would have done if she’d gotten more than five minutes to herself.

It was only now. Sitting in the car with fifteen minutes until she was expected that she could be peaceful.

But she couldn’t shake it. The sound of his voice on the phone. The memories stirred up like autumn leaves in a storm. Falling around her now in colourful abundance.

Beth just wants to make sense of it. Of him. Of what he feels. What he was going to say.

_Frustration._

She pushes her spine more forcefully back in to the fabric of the seat, nestling in, releasing her head on the headrest. The warm fluttering feeling low in her belly as she pictures him before her making her sigh in to the quiet of her car.

She finds herself casting her eyes side-to-side, checking the small parking lot. It’s empty. It’s always empty. She’s the only one she’s ever seen use it when she thinks back on her previous visits. It wasn’t for public use. Deliveries came in the morning so she never saw them.

She was alone. She was early.

_Do you think about it?_

God, she never stopped.

Without realising it was happening her left hand had started gliding up her torso, dragging along the thin navy cotton of her shirt, coming to rest on the curve of her breast where the shirt opened. Lazily tickling the skin that swelled above the lace of her bra, squeezing softly, imagining the way a different, bigger hand had felt. The reverent way he cradled her, surprisingly delicate in his need. Barely contained restraint that caused him to tremble. The promise of his strength, coiled and waiting to devour her fully.

Beth’s eyes begin to close as the sensations relax her. Soft, breathy sighs escaping her lips as she runs her thumb in small circles through her shirt over her nipple, kneading the skin slowly, remembering how he had felt. How he had worshipped her. Pushing harder back in to the seat, imagining his chest behind her.

Her other hand glides up her thigh, brushing feather light between her legs before coming to rest low on her belly, gently fidgeting with the button of her jeans.

It feels so good to let go for a moment. To let herself think of him like this without shame. It feels so good….

_Knock Knock_

Beth startles at the sudden sound, a rapping of knuckles on the passenger side window, her hands flailing out and away from her body. Who had seen her? _Please not him, please God not –_

Rio appears in the window. Leaning his shoulder in to the door frame as he ducks his head to look in to the car. The ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth. _Shit_. He makes a twirling gesture with his finger, prompting her to wind down the window.

Beth composes herself and reaches out to push the button. Maybe he didn’t see anything?

When the glass is completely rolled down he rests his bare forearms on the frame, the sleeves of his burgundy shirt rolled up to the elbow, dangling his hands loosely in to the car.

“Hey, mama. Whassup?” That ghost of a smile spills across his face and his eyes dance over her knowingly. Eyebrows quirking up.

Beth flounders a moment, her voice a little too high when she speaks. “Nothing.”

Rio nods and juts his lower lip out. “Uh huh,” his tongue flicks out suddenly and runs across his lips. “Saw your car pull in a while ago. Whatchu doin out here?” his smile turning smug, delighting in toying with her. It reminds her of the day she first broke in to his loft. That Cheshire grin on his face as he stalked toward her.

Beth clears her throat. “I was early so I thought I would just – um – just - ”

“Just what?” he pushes her, couching his chin in his palm. He’s so annoyingly pleased with himself it helps her settle, swinging her chin round, defiant.

“Relax for a bit. Somebody called me at 3am so I’m kinda tired.” She throws at him, staring him down.

His face drops immediately as she brings them back to equal footing. The rock of his jaw a silent surrender. Annoyed at himself for giving her this to use against him. If he was hoping she’d never bring it up again, that they could pretend it never happened, he had another thing coming.

The teasing drops from his voice and he steps back, standing to full height. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” He turns toward the bar, but noticing Beth’s lack of action, stops to raise his eyebrows, “You _coming?_ ” His black eyes dancing with suggestion.

She can tell he starts laughing as soon as he turns his back to walk away. Beth releases the breath she was holding, slowly righting herself. She looks down and realises the lacy edge of her bra was showing from where she’d tugged down her shirt. Had been showing as Rio looked her over. _Great._ She pulls her collar up quickly, rolls up the window and grabs her purse as she steps out.

Pushing the bar door open, she finds Rio waiting for her on one of the stools. Their usual spot. Her drink waiting on the counter next to his.

It’s empty save for the young sandy-haired barman, Charlie. He was always here setting up the place while she and Rio had their meetings, occasionally getting them drinks. He looked like a sweet college kid so Beth used to assume he had no idea what they were involved in. But after a few times where Rio had said something openly that leant more in to the illicit side of their dealings and he hadn’t blinked an eye, she realised he was just another small cog in Rio’s machine.

Beth lowers herself on to the stool to the left of him, dropping her purse as he uses the glass in his hand to nudge her bourbon towards her.

“Thanks.” She grabs the glass and lifts it to her lips, throwing back a considerable amount of the golden liquid.

“Rough day?”

“Like I said. Tired.”

He shifts in his seat as he bobs his head, keeping his gaze down on his glass. His fingers fidget at the rim, tapping and circling the edge, drawing Beth’s eyes to the veins on the back of his hands.

He whips his chin round then, turning his attention to her fully. “So, how’s our business doin? You holding down the fort?”

“Mmmhmm,” she nods. “Everything’s running smoothly. Nothing to worry about. We got some new stock in, should boost revenue. Might have your cut early.”

“What about our silent partner? He know what you up to yet?”

Dean. He definitely knew something was wrong. But he loved living in his ignorance too much to push her too hard on it. It bled through, of course. The both of them giving up the charade that was their marriage weeks ago.

“No. He doesn’t need to.”

“Still in the doghouse, huh?” the glint in his eye reminding her of what she regrets mentioning to him. Dean sleeping on the couch. Something about the curiosity in his look prickling at her skin. The hope in his eyes that she wouldn’t tell him this information had changed. But he had no right.

Beth chuckles darkly, “Yeah, he’s still there.” Locking eyes with his she lets the stillness hang a second longer, the moment charged, before – “How was your date?”

Rio’s eyes glaze over but don’t break with hers. The only sign of aggravation the tick in his jaw from where he was clenching his teeth together. He’d thrown that at her last week as a reason he had to cut their meeting short. It stung. That strange sense of possession over his attention crawling up her spine. It made no sense for him to be curious about where Dean was sleeping while he was out dating who knows how many women.

They weren’t each other’s person.

No matter how often it felt like they should be. Like they already were in an unexplainable way that scared her.

Why were they talking about it at all?

He flickers his eyes over her face, settling on her lips as he lets his jaw go, the tension easing. “Disappointing.” he sighs, surveying her.

“That’s a shame.” Beth deadpans, downing the last of her drink and bringing it back down to the bar with too much force.

They're quiet again. Staring each other down. It’s heated. That frustration sparking between them.

Beth is only pulled out of it when a hand pushes a fresh glass of bourbon in to her periphery. She looks up to see Charlie nudging the glass across for her, taking the old one.

“Thank you.” Beth fumbles, still able to feel Rio’s eyes on the side of her face.

Charlie smiles at her in the strangest way. Almost knowing. Almost like he’s watching his favourite show. Then his eyes jump to Rio and straight back to her, raising his brow and giving her a conspiratorial wink before he turns to leave in to the kitchen.

 _What the hell?_ Were they that obvious?

When she turns back to Rio he immediately changes pace. “So I’mma need you to step things up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“Elaborate for me.” Beth bites out. She hated when he did this. The whiplash of his mood. Slipping in to vague coldness. They were past that. They were equals. He couldn’t demand things from her without a good reason.

“We need more capital across our other assets. Figure the best place to find that is from you. You got all that ‘new stock’ right? Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Beth scrunches up her face as she puts this together. “Other assets? You mean those colleagues of yours?” Beth can still picture those three men. Their clean suits. Their false smiles.

Rio’s shoulders slump with the mention of them. With something he’s not telling her. “ _Our_ colleagues.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll get the cut we agreed on and they can stay out of it.”

“Elizabeth.” and the look on his face when he lifts his gaze to her steals all her words. His eyes, wide and glassy, imploring in their urgency. Distantly she registers his hand rising from the bar and toward her face. His index finger tracing the hair at her forehead down to the apple of her cheek.

“Please.” He purrs. The word almost as foreign from his lips as the _I’m Sorry_ in her dreams. But there’s a desperation there that unsettles her. Something almost resembling worry. Almost resembling fear. It’s so troubling it sends a cold shiver right through her.

What had done this to him?

Beth’s about to ask this when the sound of a car pulling up right outside makes Rio twist away from her painfully fast. He can just about see it through the window. An expensive silver car resembling Rio’s old Cadillac parking on the street. Beth can see that its windows are blacked out, but judging by Rio’s reaction to it, he knows exactly who’s inside.

He jumps up from the stool, angling his shoulder so he’s side-on to her as he faces the door. Fingers fidgeting against his jeans the only sign he’s rattled.

“Who is that?” Rio doesn’t move his body, just looks at her over his shoulder. Eye’s blazing before he turns his attention back to the door. The sound of a car unlocking clear in the dense silence.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. Stronger this time, reaching her hand up to grip his bicep and shake him in to telling her what’s happening.

Rio keeps his face turned away. But the wave of resolve coming over him is so visceral it spreads to her as well. His words calm, “Get behind me, Elizabeth.”

“What? No, I -”

His eyes find her again. Fiery and not to be challenged. His deep voice mining the darkest sound she’s ever heard from him, “ _Get. Behind. Me_.” he commands. Biting out each word in a growl.

Beth gulps under the intensity, releasing his bicep as he comes to stand with his back to her. She’s not about to stand behind him, that was ridiculous. A statement of a weakness she didn’t possess. She looks danger in the eye. He knew that. So she compromises, standing not entirely behind him, but half her body pressed in to his back, half curving round his shoulder, peeking around him as the door opens.

A man in a silver suit glides in. Beth recognises him immediately. It was one of the men from the Hotel. One of Rio’s colleagues.

The oldest of the three, his black hair had receded slightly and the grey in his short beard caught the afternoon sun coming in through the windows, almost as silver as his outfit. Beth remembers thinking he seemed the friendliest of them. Even though Rio had insisted the only interest they had in her that day was her body, she didn’t fully believe that to be true.

They clearly weren’t friends with Rio in the typical sense, but they had seemed a tight unit. Had been partners for many years and respected each other. So what was this?

It’s Rio who speaks first. “Afternoon, James.”

“Rio.” James nods in greeting, with a smile warmer than the reception he was receiving, before he lowers his eyes to Beth. “Mrs. Boland. Lovely to see you again.” And maybe she was only noticing it now, with her senses so heightened and her attention solely on him, but James drags his eyes down to the plunge of her shirt and smacks his lips in an unsettling way. Uncaring of how blatant he is. Like she was an object there to be looked at and nothing more.

Rio slowly and purposefully lifts his right hand up gently behind him, splaying his fingers on the side of her thigh, gripping her slightly. He doesn’t nudge her further behind him, just lets it rest there. Protective. Fingertips pressing in to her skin through her jeans. Caging her with his hand. A clear statement in the movement. _Don’t touch her._

Beth feels the way her body reacts to this, the ache it creates in her gut from the simple action. She locks it away for now, deciding to lift her hand and grip lightly at his forearm. She doesn’t pull his hand away. Just squeezes. An acknowledgment. _Together._

“Don’t we look cosy.” James’s grin could almost be mistaken for genuine.

“You lost?” Rio rolls his shoulders, undulating his neck as he resets himself, commands the space.

James laughs, “Not at all. But I must confess, I had hoped to speak with you alone.”

Beth snorts at the remark, causing Rio to press deeper in to her thigh with the tips of his fingers.

“Anything you need to say, you can say with her here. We’re all partners, right?”

“That we are.” Something passes between them. Their eyes locked on to each other.

“Mrs. Boland,” he switches his attention to her, “I hear your little Hot Tub business is running well.”

“They’re called Spas.” she bristles.

“Right, of course. I assume the 10% increase we desire won’t be an issue.”

“10%?” she sputters, “That’s – ”

“Won’t be a problem.” Rio cuts in. “We got it. Don’t need you making house calls. Heard you before. We’re gonna make it work.”

Beth wasn’t sure she followed. Had Rio been to a meeting with James without her?

“Happy to hear it.” James smiles, again. Tight and unpleasant. “Another time then, Rio. I can see you’ve – got your hands full.”

Rio’s hand drops from her suddenly as he brings both of them behind his back, grabbing his opposite wrist and squaring his shoulders. She can see how he juts his chin toward the exit, a clear expression of _get out._ James gets it. Lowering his eyes to wink at her as he turns to leave.

“What the hell was that?!” she pokes him in the ribs to underline her point but the action instantly aggravates him. He turns to her and spins outside of her reach.

“Nothing. Ain’t it time you left? We’re done here.”

He goes to leave her then, to walk behind the counter and out through to the kitchen. Like hell she was going to let him smoke bomb out of this.

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain what just happened! Why were you so -”

“So what?” he spins to her.

She doesn’t really know. Not scared. More nervous. Anxious. Unprepared in a way that unsettled him.

“Why were you like that with him? What’s going on?”

He studies her thoughtfully. Taking her in. Gritting his teeth together as he swallows his words. The muscle in his jaw flexing as his eyes jump around her face. Something pained but caring in the look. And she can see it clearly now. The exhaustion. The same fatigue that was weighing her down. The frustration. He nods almost imperceptibly to himself, resolute, making an internal decision, “I’m gonna take care of it.”

It sounds like a promise. A promise to her. But what needed taking care of?

He uses her silent confusion to slip away, “You should go. See you later, yeah.”

And then he was gone.

**********************

He lied.

She didn’t see him.

For weeks.

Mick started showing up in his place to meetings and stonewalled all her questioning about the switch. He ignored her calls and texts. Day by day the loss of him as a fixture in her world began to eat at her. The apparent ease with which he could abandon her without word. His ability to fade away, an itch in her brain. His unknowable life, only accessed when he permitted and taken away swiftly, without warning.

She stopped by the bar a few times hoping to catch him. Stayed for a drink, sat in their spot. The action bringing her closer to him. Charlie had no answers for her. His eyes pitying and apologetic.

It brought up dizzying feelings. The ones she had that first time he disappeared. _Before._ But it wasn’t supposed to work like that anymore. They were partners. They were –

She didn’t really know.

Until one evening, finally, he came back to her.

Beth had been pouring herself a bourbon in the kitchen, enjoying the blissful quiet of the house while Dean had the kids at Judith’s, when the peace was disturbed by a noise coming from her bedroom.

_Had she left the French doors open?_

With her drink still in hand, she starts walking back to the bedroom, listening intently for any other strange sounds, but there were one.

Pushing open the door and coming in to the room, a shadow on the bed makes her jump with fright, her drink spilling over the edge all over her hand. When she catches her breath, she can just make out the shape of the silhouette in the dark.

Rio. Sitting on the edge of her bed, slumped forward.

Her heart hammers in a different way, a million questions surging in her mind. Where have you been? Why are you here? What’s going on?

The one that slips out first is “How did you get in?”

Rio nods toward the French doors, closed as they should be, “Door was open.”

She doesn’t remember if it had been locked or not, regardless, he couldn’t just wander in to her home at night. In to her bedroom.

He hasn’t turned to face her yet, and it’s now, seeing him on the bed, that she realises he hasn’t been in here since _that_ day. So much having passed between them since, so much hurt separating them from those two people washed in midday sun, melting together urgently. Two people so completely consumed by each other. Two people who should have been at the start of something. But they weren’t _any_ two people. They were them. They weren’t meant to be peaceful and good. They were meant to burn and burn and burn.

And she realises she wouldn’t change that for anything.

“Where have you been?” She can make out his head turning to her now, and then he’s standing slowly. He’s still a blur. She can just make out the line of his bomber jacket over a t-shirt, his silver chain glinting in the dark as he strolls lithely towards her, his footsteps heavy on the carpet.

He comes in close to her and in the soft orange light from the lamp on her bedside table she can just about make out a bruise, mottled purple on his cheekbone.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” She begins to reach her free hand up to his face, to tilt his chin in to the light, but he waves her away.

“S’nothin’,” he brushes her off, then, reaching for the glass she’s still holding, her hand still wet with all the bourbon that had sloshed out, “I could use this though.” And he takes it from her gently, cupping the wet hand she had been holding it in as he downs the trickle that was left, hardly a full sip, and then placing the empty glass on the dresser.

He lowers his gaze to the hand he’s holding, eyeing the sheen of bourbon, the small droplets sticking to her skin, his bottom lip full and heavy as his mouth opens softly, before he brings her hand up slightly higher and starts to bend his neck down.

Beth’s breath catches and completely stops as she watches him bring her hand to his mouth, any comment she had been ready to make disappearing when he kisses the back of it, dragging his bottom lip slightly to taste the liquid there. The faintest moan in the back of his throat as his hot tongue darts out to lick from the crook of her thumb to her wrist, resting his lips on the joint, his stubble tickling as he kisses the skin one last time, licking his lips obscenely as he lifts his head.

He meets her eyes again and she gapes, a little dizzy, her pulse loud enough for him to hear. “You need to be more careful, darlin.”

“You need to knock. On the front door.” She clears her throat, trying to regain her senses.

She feels his grip still on her hand and drops her eyes to it. His knuckles are cut and raw, dried blood caked on his skin.

She twists out of his grasp and brings both her hands up to cradle his, looking more intently at the damage. He tries to pull away, but she resists him, bringing her eyes up to his to stare him down. “What’s this?”

“It’s -”

“I swear to god if you say ‘nothing’ to me – ”

Rio’s lips twitch mischievously “You’ll do what?”

“Stop it. Just stop. You’re going to sit down and let me clean this. Then you’re going to explain to me why you’ve been gone for weeks. Why you’ve been ignoring me and why you’ve shown up here like you’ve been in a fight!”

“Elizabeth, - ”

“Stop. Sit. Explain.” she injects it with as much authority as she can muster and it seems to work. The bravado in his stance leaving him.

He turns away from her and sinks down on the edge of the bed, dragging his eyes up and down her navy pyjama set fondly, waiting for her next move.

_Right._

Beth moves in to the bathroom, grabbing a hand towel and some antiseptic cream from the cupboard. She runs the towel under the tap and then twists it out; making sure it’s not heavy with warm water.

When she walks back in to the room, Rio’s got his face turned away, gaze toward the headboard. He doesn’t hear her approach, her bare feet noiseless on the floor, so she watches him a moment. Lost in thought. He drags a flat palm slowly over the duvet, just below her pillow. Like he can touch a moment and change it. Like he can feel the memory of her sitting where he is now.

It makes her uncomfortable, him thinking about that. Him remembering the moment she kicked him out. She clears her throat and his hand slips back in to his lap quickly as she approaches and sits next to him on the bed, her right knee bent up so she can turn towards him, an easier angle to clean his knuckles from.

She reaches for the hand closest to her, and after a moment’s hesitation he lifts it enough so she can hold it in her own. She struggles a little to find purchase, his hand so much bigger than hers, but she finds a comfortable rhythm when she starts wiping the dried blood away. Gently swiping over the cuts, making sure no dirt is left behind.

She’s focused on the task before her, gently dabbing the last smudges of red when she feels his fingers softly tighten around the palm she’s using to hold his hand. A gentle squeeze that feels like _thank you_.

She turns her head to find his eyes on her face, heavy-lidded and hazy. Warmth radiating from him, making her feel suddenly hot and flustered. She drops his hand to his knee and reaches for the antiseptic, unscrewing the cap and squeezing out a small amount on to her index finger. Picking up his hand again, she dabs it to the open cuts.

Rio hisses, “Jesus, ma. Be careful with that.”

“You want this cleaned or not?”

He rolls his eyes in irritable agreement.

“Good, then stop being a baby.”

When she finishes she reaches for his right hand, his dominant one, which is probably why the cuts were worse, and pulls it across his body towards her. She picks up the towel, starting the process again.

“So,” she starts.

“So what?”

Beth huffs, “So, we’re getting to the explain part of the evening.”

Rio chews his lip and then exhales heavily. “I was taking care of a problem.”

“What problem was that?”

“James.”

Beth freezes. What did he mean? James was their colleague. _His_ colleague for years.

She slowly pats his knuckles one last time and then reaches for the antiseptic. “What was the problem with James?” she asks, as she begins to dab the cream on to his skin.

“They were all problems.”

“All who?”

“All three of them.”

Beth gives his hand back to him and watches him flex it as she drops the towel and cream to the floor.

A nervous sick feeling begins to spread though her gut. “What did you do?”

“I handled it.”

“Handled it how?”

His jaw swings as he looks at her, “We don’t have three partners anymore.”

She can feel her heart in her throat as she asks, “What do we have?”

“Three dead men and nobody messing with our business.” He says it so casually, so cold, it causes goose bumps to ripple down her forearms.

She struggles to catch up. Rio had been gone for weeks. Ignored her. So he could murder three of his associates. People he’d worked with for years.

“Why?” she whispers.

Rio jumps up suddenly, “Doesn’t matter.”

Beth rushes up to stand right in front of him, “Yes it does! What’s wrong with you? Talk to me, _please_! Why did you do this?”

“Because they wanted you gone!” He growls, right in her face, eyes wild.

“What – what are you - what are you talking about?”

Rio shuts his eyes tight, rubbing his hand over the scruff lining his jaw, releasing a sigh before he opens them.

“I know those guys, alright. When they see a weakness they hit it. _Hard_. And you - ” he shakes his head, stopping himself. But the turmoil in his eyes finishes the thought. _You’re my weakness._

“They made it pretty damn clear to me that if I couldn’t get more money outta the business, that I had to cut you out, that you were disposable to them. They thought you were a weak link.” His black eyes bore in to her, dark with something almost _proud_ , “But they don’t know shit about you. You ain’t no weak link. They wanted to hurt you, get you outta the way. But I know what you’re capable of. I know what _we’re_ capable of. And I would never let them anywhere near you. I wasn’t gonna give them the chance.”

Beth is stunned silent. The meaning bound up in all these words. The overwhelming sense of protection. The horror at his actions. The troubling warmth. Power. His desire to shield her pushing him to this extreme. Rio was laying three bodies at her feet and saying, _Here. I did this for you._ And a dark part of her, a part she didn’t often acknowledge, was grateful.

But he ignored her. Left her out of all this. They were partners and he left her behind.

“But why would you shut me out like that?”

“It kept you safe didn’t it?”

It wasn’t an explanation, not really. The implication seemed to be that keeping his distance from her all this time was the only way he was able to execute his plan without her being dragged in to it.

She doesn’t care to push further. She’s just so relieved he’s ok. That they both are. That he’s here. That she has him. That they’re each other’s person whether they like it or not.

It makes her eyes fill up abruptly, the wave of emotion, and she does something she’s never done before. She reaches out and hugs him. Tightly. Burying her face in his shirt. Splaying her hands on his back. Letting herself breathe in his scent. The closest she’s been to him since – since the last time he was in this room with her.

He doesn’t hug her back immediately. She can feel his arms hovering out behind her, unsure how to react. But slowly they fall to her shoulders, softly stroking through the cotton of her top.

“You can’t do that again. Ever. You can’t disappear. You can’t do that to me.” she mumbles against his sternum.

“Aight. Deal.”

Beth releases him, stepping away from his chest. Rio doesn’t let her go far, his hands running down her arms to cup her elbows as she rests her hands on his lower back.

This is her chance.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” he utters, a tender smile creeping on to his face, blinking slow and heavy.

“Tell me what you were going to say to me. That day in the elevator.”

Rio furrows his brow, still not wanting to share this with her. He slides his tongue over his bottom lip and bites it in to his mouth as he thinks about his words. His grip on her elbows becoming tighter. Then he relaxes a little in to her as some internal struggle is resolved, his eyes shining as they take her in.

“I don’t regret it. Not the bad shit, but – _us_ – before. How we were. I don’t regret any of it. I don’t regret _you_. I never could. And I think about it all the time. I just - I wanted you to know that.”

Beth’s breath falters, he heart thudding against her rib cage. Her mouth suddenly dry. It’s not what she expected. _It’s more_. Knowing that regardless of the pain, the rage, the confusion that had built to such a terrible crescendo between them, he wasn’t resentful of his time with her. Of what they meant to each other. He thought about it. He missed it. _He missed her_.

Subconsciously, she cants her head forward, almost in a daze. Her eyes dropping to his mouth. Hers opening slightly and coming close to his face, before swaying a little backward. He slides his grip up to her biceps, gripping her harder against him. His eyes flitting all over her face, that bottom lip, heavy, trembling a little as their staccato breaths fill the space between them. The bird on his neck undulating as he swallows thickly.

He lowers his head closer to hers, closer still, enough that their foreheads touch and the feel of him so close like this causes Beth to keen without meaning to.

His mouth opens wider, his lips angling to catch her own when she pivots at the last second, just enough that he can’t kiss her, but keeping their foreheads pressed together.

Beth notices the gentle swaying of their bodies, the rhythmic lilt of his torso flush against her. Her blood screaming at her for more. But they _can’t do this._

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers without conviction, the mantra she’s been telling herself for so long now, “We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t.” even as she grips him closer, her hands flat against his back, wetting her lips as she looks at his.

“Yes we should.” He purrs, his lips ghosting against her own, barely anything between them. His hot breath against her mouth driving her mad with want.

It’s his words. His assurance that he wants this as much as she does. Needs her like she needs him. That it’s right, that they should stop fighting it, that cause her to surge forward, close the gap, and kiss him hungrily.

He responds with just as much fervour, moaning in to her. Months of desire echoing in to the space. His lips even softer than she remembered, his stubble tickling, his big hands travelling down to her hips, pulling her up and into him. She deepens the kiss, sliding her tongue against his, the rumbling sounds from deep within him in stark contrast to the desperate mewling coming from her.

He feels so _good_ , overwhelming all her senses. All her frustration washing away as he holds her.

He slides his hands up her sides, coming to rest them just beneath her chest. Breaking the kiss, he lowers his eyes to the buttons of her pyjama shirt. He growls as he stares at her breasts, the sound obscene and causing a throbbing sensation to build low in her belly.

He gently lifts his hands higher, his fingers feather light as they come up to caress her, placing his warm palms against her breasts, his thumbs stroking back and forth across her nipples, revelling in how they harden under his touch. Beth squirms and moans, desperate for him to take her top off and really touch her.

“What were you thinking about,” he rasps suddenly, “That day. In your car?”

Beth's vision goes spotty as she thinks about it, the confirmation that he saw her, saw her thinking about him. A blush of embarrassment blossoms on her cheeks before she decides she doesn’t care.

“This.” She breathes. Placing her hands on top of his, making him grab her harder.

He growls, animalistic, curling his fingers up and round the top of her shirt and yanking in opposite directions, tearing it open, white buttons pinging off and falling to the floor. He rips the remnants down her arms and reclaims her mouth, messy kisses as he pushes his hard chest against her soft skin. Beth moves her hands to his shoulders, pushing his jacket off quickly and running her fingers down his spine until they catch on the bottom of his t-shirt, bringing her fingers round to tickle the smooth skin at the top of his pelvis. His kisses stutter at the sensation and then she’s pushing up, guiding the shirt up his body. He leans back enough to pull it over the back of his head and down his arms, crashing back in to her as soon as he’s free of it.

He moves his mouth to her neck, hot open mouthed kisses just below her ear that make her eyes roll back. She fiddles with his belt buckle while his rough hands travel all over her, re-mapping her, struggling to get at her in all the ways he wants to at once. She’s just getting the buckle undone and sliding the leather out of the loop, when he spins her so her back is to the bed instead of his.

Beth pulls his face back up to hers, missing his mouth. His perfect lips swollen from where she had sucked on them greedily. She can feel him kicking off his shoes and then how he moves to pull at the drawstring of her pyjama bottoms, tugging the knot out sharp enough to jolt her whole body, then dropping his large palms down the back, slowly gliding over her ass and squeezing, grinding his hips in to hers, then pushing them down and off her. Beth kicking her ankles out of them when they hit the floor.

She crushes against him, just in her underwear, the hard line of him against her in his jeans making her desperate.

“I need you.” she groans in to his mouth. He nudges her toward the bed then, the backs of her knees hitting it and causing her to sit down. He follows closely, hovering his body over hers as she lies back in to the sheets. Wrapping one of his arms around her waist, he pulls her so her head is up near the pillows.

He settles over her, pushing her legs open so he can lay flush against her body, the weight of him on top of her intoxicating as she feels the muscles in his body tense to hold himself steady.

He kisses down her clavicle, slowly making his way to her breasts, biting and sucking at the skin before taking her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue and making lewd noises as his other hand sweeps down her body and between her legs. Stroking, teasing her through the thin, damp cotton of her underwear. A slow kind of agony already building in her.

He begins kissing and licking up her chest, making his way to her neck again, lapping at her pulse point, sucking, enough to tickle and make her laugh softly. She can feel it when he smiles against her.

“What are you doing?” she giggles, breathless, when he starts sucking harder, his tongue all over her.

“Think you spilt some bourbon here too, mama.” he whispers, chuckling against her throat. When he kisses the spot on her neck made tender and pink by his tongue he mumbles to himself, “taste so good.” and Beth arches her back off the bed against him.

She can’t take it much longer, the rub of jeans against her causing her to squirm. She reaches her hand down between their bodies and unzips his jeans, pushing her hand in to his boxers and gripping his cock in her palm. Rio lurches and chokes into her neck a harsh _fuck_ before rising up and away from her, turning to kick his jeans off and push his boxers down, throwing them off the edge of the bed and coming back to kneel in front of Beth.

Beth’s legs are bent up, her knees pressed together.

Rio places his hands on them, running them up and down the sides of her thighs.

“Open your legs.” He commands her.

Beth feels the vibration of his voice right at her core but the lust in his eyes as he looks down at her makes her want to deny him a little longer. She smirks. Pressing her knees harder together.

He catches it and licks his lips. “Elizabeth,” her name on his tongue, every syllable sounded out with reverence and desire. He bends to drop his mouth to her knee cap, keeping his eyes on hers as he pushes his chest into the front of her calves, “Open your legs for me.”

She can’t resist. She slowly eases the tension in her knees and he feels it, lifting up to watch her. She opens her knees out to the side slowly and they take each other in for a moment. The low golden lamplight making him glow before her, his chest heaving slightly as he studies every inch of her body. Her eyes catch on his scars, a strange urge to kiss them the way he kissed her chest.

Then his chain, pendulous against him, the silver disc swaying before her, taunting her as it rests against the strong, lean muscle.

He reaches down, grabbing at the edge of her underwear, taking his time as he shimmies them down her hips, dragging them up over her legs achingly slow before discarding them.

He crawls back over her, kissing and licking his way up slowly from the insides of her thighs, over her stomach until he reaches her lips. Then he lifts his torso high, pushing his palms in to the mattress by her head, his arms locked out. She wraps her legs around his waist, wanting him against her again, bringing her hands to his biceps, gripping along the lines of his tattoos. But he just watches her, his eyes shining in awe.

Beth reaches out toward the chain hanging between them, twisting her fingers in it the way she had done so long ago, closes her fist around it and pulls him toward her. He goes easily, sliding on to his forearms, his body slotting against her as his mouth finds her again.

They kiss slowly, enjoying each other, running their fingers everywhere like they’re afraid it’s a fantasy, them being here together again. He dances his long fingers between her legs, teasing at her wet folds until she starts making little high-pitched moans that make him softly curse under his breath. When their kisses turn sloppy and frantic, Beth is desperate for him inside her, reaching her hands down to his waist and pressing him against her. He grunts against her mouth and then reaches down between them, taking a hold of his cock and lining up with her entrance, looking her in the eye as he pushes in to her deeply with one long, slow stroke. Their mouths gaping open against each other, guttural, primal moans as they let the aching feeling overwhelm them. The way they had missed each other shining in their eyes.

They’re still for a moment, until Beth can’t take it anymore. “Rio,” she chokes out, “ _uh, please.”_

His name, something she’s not sure he’s ever heard from her, unlocks something in him. He shudders all over, his hips beginning to rock against her as he glides in and out at an agonising pace. Stretching her in the best way, making her wince with the sweetness. She writhes against him, hips meeting his rhythm, tide-like, in and out, making her vision blur, his black eyes locking with hers like stars in the night sky. She can see the way his jugular heaves, beads of sweat across the blue wings that she reaches up to lick away.

His chain slides between her breasts, cold metal on her hot skin. He lifts up, and, without breaking his rhythm, grabs the chain by the pendant and twists it round behind his neck, laying the disc down between the valley of his shoulder blades, resting it there. The shift in his hips causes him to push in to her at a different angle that makes her yell out in ecstasy.

As he lowers back down, he grabs on to her thigh and lifts it higher, as high as she can go, hooking it there, and moving faster, faster inside her. He brings his forehead back down to hers, catching her lips erratically as he rocks above her, the delicious tension building in both of them. He brings one hand up to her face, cradling it, brushing her hair out her eyes and running his thumb over her panting mouth, the action making her clench around him and render the most blissful sound of pleasure from him she’s ever heard.

He drops his head in to the crook of her neck as he moves quicker, his hands dig in to the sheet, gripping and ripping at it as he starts to lose control. Thrusting in to her with so much power every one of her nerves short-circuits, she can feel herself fluttering around him, the moaning coming from her mouth becoming loud and indecent, her fingernails tearing in to the skin at his back, leaving little crescent moons in his skin.

All it takes is for him to gently bring his hand between them and roll his thumb over her sensitive clit, whispering her name against her ear as he does so, and she erupts. Going limp as all her muscles spasm around him, her eyes completely full of him as he lifts up to watch her come. To savour the look on her face. She feels her eyes well up with the overwhelming feeling. Of having this with him again. He thrusts in to her a few more times and then spills inside her with a choked moan against her ear. The warm sensation of him filling her making her twitch as she comes down. Blissed out and holding the back of his head against her chest, running her hands over his soft short hair.

They lay there like that for a while. Just enjoying the feeling. Beth resistant to let him go, but finally he gently pulls out of her and rolls onto his back, nudging Beth to come with him so she’s pressed against his side.

The silence is comfortable, their breath settling in to the room.

“That was -” she doesn’t know what to say but _god_ , they just felt so right. Their bodies saying what their words failed to. _You’re mine._

“Yeah.” is Rio’s simple reply.

Beth lifts her hand up to lay against his chest, resting her head just above it as the arm he has looped around her tickles a pattern in to her shoulder. Tracing her freckles again. She picks up his free hand in her own and looks at his knuckles. Sore, but much better for having been cleaned, and presses a tender kiss to the raw skin. He watches her intently as she brings her eyes back to his.

“Thank you,” she says, sincerely, “For choosing me and not them. For looking out for me.”

“I got you.” is his lazy response, his eyes warmly taking her in.

Beth rises up on her elbow and takes his chain in her hand again, pulling him up by it to kiss her. He laughs against her mouth, gruff and affectionate.

“Easy, darlin. You’ll take my head off.”

“Shut up.”

“Here,” he breaks away from the kiss, pushing back higher against the headboard so he can reach up behind his head. He unclasps the chain, then, taking the two ends, holds it out toward her and lays it against her bare chest. Beth freezes as he slides both his hands up to meet at the nape of her neck, clicking the fastening together and letting go. He runs his hand down the chain, his eyes following the motion as his fingers trace the pendant where it sways against her bare breasts. He hums low at the sight, clearly enjoying the image of his necklace on her.

“What’s this for?”

“You pulling on it so much, why don’t you hang on to it for me, yeah?” he tells her, gently playing with the ends of her hair.

Beth is oddly touched by the gesture, smiling at him as he studies the way it rests on her skin. “Looks better on you anyway.”

He lies back, tugging quickly on the chain for her to follow him down, smirking at how much she obviously liked it. Beth rolls her eyes, trying to cover the way it caused her to flush all over again, and pushes down the duvet far enough so she can pull it over their legs, settling next to him. It’s not awkward like she thought it might be. They had never much lingered afterwards before so she didn’t know how she was going to react. But it was comforting. The most relaxed she’s felt in god knows how long. And judging by the contented sigh from Rio, he felt the same.

It was still messy. An unknown. Their relationship. Still full of things they didn’t understand. But they were _theirs_ in a way only known to them. They had waded through miles of pain to get here. They deserved whatever happiness they craved. They deserved to have each other. They were _them._ That was all.

Beth fiddles with the chain, the links clinking softly in the quiet, running her thumb over the image on the pendant. Trying to make it out. She turns to ask Rio but he’s fast asleep. His face so calm and still, she can’t help but marvel at how beautiful he is. Her heart hurting with it. She feels sleep dragging her under as well. The exhaustion she’d been plagued by finally releasing, making her eyes heavy.

She grips the chain in her palm once more. Rio’s chain. The pieces of silver in her hand feeling good and right.

And Beth sleeps. Peaceful and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed reading and that it was a slightly less heavy continuation. I didn't want to re-tread Part 1 and just wanted them in a better place becauseeeee of part 1 (obvs still messy, but better) so i hope it was satisfying? I dunno. Thanks so much, big hugs to all! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the fee Judas took for betrayal.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! This is the first fic I've ever written so please be kind hahaha I don't know what I'm doing. But I hope some of ya'll liked it. Would love to hear thoughts or I'm on tumblr as riosnecktattoo as well if you wanna discuss there :)


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